


Our Endless Numbered Days

by enigmaticblue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:15:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony figures a vacation is just what they need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Endless Numbered Days

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Iron & Wine song of the same name. Written for my dear friend and partner in crime, thomasina75, for her birthday, and fulfills the “road trip” prompt for trope_bingo, and the “possession/mind control” prompt for hc_bingo. Additionally, so far as I know, the place where Bruce and Tony stay doesn’t actually exist, but I figure I could take just as many liberties as Marvel does.

**Then**

 

The elevator doors open, and Tony steps into the Penthouse with a sigh of relief. He wants a drink, and he wants reunion sex with his boyfriend—and not necessarily in that order.

 

Tony drops his bag and calls out, “Bruce! I know you’re here. I want that reunion sex you promised me.”

 

“I’m afraid Dr. Banner isn’t here, sir,” Jarvis replies. “He left a message for you. Two, in fact.”

 

Tony frowns. “Play them in order.”

 

Bruce’s face appears on the screen, looking slightly harried. “Hey, Tony. Sorry. I know I said I’d be there when you got home, and I’m really hoping we can wrap this up quickly, and you never see this, but in case I’m not back before you are, I’ll see you soon.”

 

“What the hell happened?” Tony asks Jarvis.

 

“I believe that Dr. Banner was asked to accompany the other Avengers, sir,” Jarvis replies, and Tony thinks the AI might sound almost sympathetic.

 

Tony wishes he’d never agreed to help Quill and his so-called Guardians of the Galaxy (stupid, pretentious name, if you asked him), or go off-planet. He wishes he’d insisted on bringing Bruce with him, and hadn’t caved to the idea that the Hulk wasn’t needed.

 

“Second message,” he orders, his mouth dry.

 

Bruce’s face appears again against a smooth, gray wall, and he looks pale and sweaty, with dark circles under his eyes. His purple shirt is grimy and dark with sweat around the collar. “I don’t have much time,” he says with a grimace, and Tony can see the tinge of green that means he’s close to losing control. “There was an alien parasite, and I was exposed. It’s—we’re hoping the Other Guy protects me from the worst of it. Anyway, I’ll be in quarantine in the special holding cell on the helicarrier until it’s over. You’ll—”

 

Bruce’s head goes down, and Tony can see him doubled over.

 

“There’s no time!” Tony recognizes Steve’s voice. “Bruce!”

 

“Go! Get out!” Bruce snarls, his voice deepening, and the screen goes dark.

 

“I want Fury on the line,” Tony snaps.

 

Fury doesn’t pick up, and Tony says, “Call Steve.”

 

Steve is the last person Tony wants to talk to right now, but he knows for sure that Steve had been with Bruce, and Tony needs answers.

 

“Did you just get in?” Steve asks without so much as a hello.

 

“Yeah, and I saw Bruce’s message,” Tony snaps. “What the fuck is going on?”

 

Steve sighs. “We got called in because there was a report of a crash landing of an alien device. We asked Bruce to come along because we needed his scientific knowledge, since it was emitting gamma radiation.”

 

Tony doesn’t like where this is going. “What does it do?”

 

“We don’t know. A couple of people were already infected when we got there,” Steve replies. “It wasn’t pretty. Problem was, we didn’t know that when Bruce approached.”

 

Tony swallows. “How is he?”

 

“Better than the others,” Steve replies. “It looks like the Hulk is keeping him in one piece.”

 

“What about a cure?” Tony asks.

 

“Nothing so far, but SHIELD’s got its best people on it.”

 

“But they’re not me,” Tony says grimly. “I need to make a call, and then I can be there in a few hours.”

 

Steve hesitates. “I think he can hang on for at least that long.”

 

Tony closes his eyes. “Is there a chance he won’t?”

 

“He’s tough, and he’s still here so far,” Steve says, and that’s no answer at all.

 

“I’ll be there ASAP,” Tony promises, and hopes that it’s soon enough.

 

**Now**

 

Bruce jumps slightly when Tony puts his hands on his shoulders, and Tony nearly backs off, but decides that Bruce has had enough space over the last couple of weeks.

 

After a moment, Bruce relaxes, and Tony rubs the back of Bruce’s neck soothingly. “I’ve been thinking,” Tony says.

 

“And that’s noteworthy because?” Bruce teases, leaning back against Tony.

 

“I think we need to get away,” Tony replies. “Maybe take a road trip, or go find a beach, preferably deserted. Hey, we could road trip to a beach.”

 

“I’ve got work to do, Tony,” Bruce says, pulling away slightly.

 

Tony turns him. “And we’ve had a rough few weeks, and you’ve been holed up in here since they released you from the infirmary. Have you even slept?”

 

Bruce looks infinitely weary. “A few hours on the couch here and there.”

 

“Good thing I got you a comfortable couch, then,” Tony says. “Come on, Bruce. What do you say? A week away will do us both good.”

 

Bruce grimaces, and for a moment, Tony thinks he’s going to refuse, and then he shrugs. “When do we leave?”

 

“No time like the present,” Tony replies. “Get some clothes together, and whatever else you need, and we’ll get going.”

 

Bruce gives Tony a long look. “I guess this project isn’t anything that can’t wait.”

 

“Bring your laptop,” Tony replies. “You can work on something that doesn’t require equipment. Weren’t you working on that article?”

 

Bruce shrugs. “I was.”

 

He doesn’t say more than that, and Tony cups Bruce’s face, leaning in to kiss him, pushing his fingers through Bruce’s thick hair. It takes a moment for Bruce to respond, but when he does, it’s with a fierce need and a bruising grip.

 

Tony tugs at Bruce’s hair with one hand and grabs a fistful of Bruce’s shirt with the other.

 

“Where are we going?” Bruce asks when they break off the kiss to catch their breaths.

 

Tony presses his forehead against Bruce’s. “Does it matter?”

 

“No, I guess not,” Bruce admits. “Not as long as you’re there.”

 

Bruce follows Tony back to their bedroom, pausing just inside the doorway. Tony knows he’s been here since being infected, but Tony doesn’t think they’ve been in the room together. He wants to ask why Bruce has been avoiding him, but he doesn’t want to start the trip off on a sour note.

 

Bruce’s worn duffel hasn’t seen use in months, and he throws clothing into it haphazardly.

 

Really, it’s no wonder he always looks rumpled.

 

Tony follows his lead, and Bruce says, “Don’t forget your swim trunks.”

 

“You need a pair?”

 

“Haven’t really had much of a chance to go swimming in a while,” Bruce admits.

 

“I think I’ve got a spare set,” Tony replies. “I’ll grab them.”

 

“Better bring extra underwear, too,” Bruce replies. “Since we don’t know when we’ll be able to do laundry.”

 

Tony smirks at him. “Who says we’re going to need it?”

 

Bruce’s smile is more genuine than Tony has seen in days. “Well, if you want to go commando, don’t let me stop you.”

 

“I was hoping you’d take advantage of it, actually,” Tony teases.

 

Bruce looks momentarily stricken, and then he says, “Maybe I will.”

 

And Tony would give just about anything to get their old, easy intimacy back, but that’s the whole point of this trip, because they’ve come too far for Tony to give up now, and they’ve been through too much.

 

Tony’s going to get Bruce through this, even if he has to take him to the end of the world to do so.

 

**Then**

 

Steve, Clint, and Natasha are all waiting for him, still in their field gear, when Tony lands on the helicarrier, and that’s when Tony knows just how bad it is.

 

Tony’s sent a message to the Guardians, since they owe him one, and they’d know about alien parasites, but all he can do is wait for them to return his call. He just hopes that Bruce can hang on long enough, or beat this on his own.

 

“Let’s talk,” Natasha says with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Come on.”

 

“I want to see Bruce,” Tony protests.

 

“And you will,” Natasha promises. “But we need to prepare you for what you’re going to see.”

 

Tony recoils. “No.”

 

“He’s okay,” Steve says quickly. “But he’s bouncing back and forth between green and not, and when he’s not green, he’s not exactly himself.”

 

Tony scrubs his face with his hands. “What am I looking at here? I could see that he was losing control from the video.”

 

Clint rubs the back of his neck. “Dr. Banner is under the influence of the parasite, but the Hulk isn’t, and the few people who were infected before we could contain it ended up doing a lot of damage before we could isolate them.”

 

“What constitutes a lot of damage?” Tony asks suspiciously.

 

“One man killed his entire family,” Natasha says bluntly. “Another shot up a fast food restaurant. The girl that was exposed set fire to her house, although no one was injured. The thing you need to know is that Bruce isn’t himself, Tony. When he sees you, whatever he says, it’s not him.”

 

Tony shakes his head. “This is Bruce. How bad can it be?”

 

“He called me a cocksucker,” Steve says bluntly, putting a heavy hand on Tony’s shoulder. “So, yeah. It’s bad. He doesn’t mean any of it. He’s just trying to fight off the parasite.”

 

Bruce has had a few choice words for Fury, and he’s been angry enough with Tony in the past to swear, but he’s not usually given to profanity or insults. And other than Tony—who’s lobbed his share of slurs Steve’s way—no one Tony knows ever calls Cap names.

 

“What about the Hulk?” Tony asks.

 

“You should see for yourself,” Clint replies.

 

They had rebuilt the containment room when they’d put the helicarrier back together, but this time, they’d had Bruce’s cooperation. Tony thinks it has something to do with the fact that Bruce has five other people who will raise hell to get him out if locking him up isn’t truly necessary.

 

In fact, Tony had been the one who had protested, but Bruce had been adamant, convinced that it might be necessary if the Other Guy ever became uncontrollable.

 

Looks like Bruce had been right. Tony just hopes Bruce gets the chance to say “I told you so.”

 

The others form a tight knot around Tony, and he knows that’s a bad sign. Tony gets along with all of them these days—more or less—but they’re not _friends_ , not like he and Bruce are friends. The show of support scares him.

 

The containment room is on the outside of the ship, in a section where the outer hull has been triple reinforced, but engineered so that they can blow that section, or let the Hulk bust out, in the hope that he might not be inclined to break the entire ship apart.

 

When Tony approaches, Bruce is pacing the room, his clothing in tatters, and a wild look in his eyes. Tony flips the switch for the intercom. “Bruce?”

 

Bruce turns to face him. “What the fuck are you doing here, you bastard?”

 

“You weren’t there when I got home,” Tony replies, keeping it casual. “Figured I’d come to you.”

 

“So you could abandon me again?” Bruce snarls. “So you could _leave_?”

 

Tony winces. “We talked about this. You were okay with it.”

 

Bruce pounds on the glass. “I wouldn’t be in this fucking mess if it weren’t for you!” The stream of curses that pour out of his mouth would be impressive if not directed at Tony, and Clint pulls him back.

 

“He’s been like that with everybody,” Clint says in an undertone. “It’s not just you.”

 

Bruce’s words give way to a wordless howl of rage and pain, and his skin turns green as he transforms.

 

The Hulk, in contrast, remains on his hands and knees, his chest and shoulders heaving.

 

Tony uses the intercom again. “Hey, Big Guy. How are you doing in there?”

 

Hulk looks up, and Tony swallows at the look in his eyes. “Hurts.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Tony manages to say. “I’m going to do everything I can to fix this, okay?”

 

“Not Banner now,” Hulk grunts. “Angry.”

 

Tony’s surprised at how much sense Hulk is making. “Yeah, he seems pretty angry at me.”

 

“Not you,” Hulk says. “Not Banner.”

 

Tony translates that as Bruce isn’t really angry with Tony, and it’s not really Bruce. He figures Hulk would know since they share headspace.

 

Hulk stares at him, looking almost pleading. “Fix it.”

 

“You got it,” Tony promises, and then Hulk looks away, panting heavily, clearly in a lot of pain.

 

“I need someone to stay with him,” Tony says. “And I need every bit of information you have on this parasite.”

 

“I’ll stay,” Steve offers. “There’s not much I can add.”

 

“I’ll keep him company,” Clint says.

 

Natasha leads the way. “Come on. I’ll show you what we’ve got.”

 

Tony follows her, hating the feeling that he’s turning his back on Bruce, but knowing that it’s necessary if he’s going to save him.

 

**Now**

 

The sun has long since set, but Tony keeps driving. Bruce had dozed off within fifteen minutes of climbing into the passenger seat, and Tony’s going to let him sleep for as long as he can.

 

After some consideration, Tony had elected to head south to Florida; he knows of a couple of quiet beaches where they can go and just be alone together. Plus, since they’re both fairly recognizable at this point, deserted is for the best.

 

Bruce is slumped against the passenger side door, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, a bit of drool coming out of his slack mouth.

 

And god help him, but Tony thinks it’s adorable.

 

He gets off I-78 and onto the I-95, heading south. He has the top up, and the night closes in around them, silent but for the sound of the tires on the road, and the other vehicles. As Tony drives, Bruce starts to relax a bit more, his hands dropping to his lap, and Tony feels the tension he’s been carrying around uncoil.

 

This is the most relaxed he’s seen Bruce since the parasite had nearly killed him, and Bruce is in Tony’s company. That has to mean something.

 

Tony makes it as far as Wilmington, Delaware, before Bruce stirs, blinking sleepily. “What—Tony?”

 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Tony replies quietly. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah, I—I slept really well,” Bruce admits. “Better than I have for a while.”

 

Tony smiles. “Good. You want to keep going, or do you want to stop for the night?”

 

“I can drive,” Bruce offers, although his eyes are already starting to slide shut.

 

Tony reaches out to lace his fingers with Bruce’s. “Sleep, Big Guy. I’ll wake you up when we stop for the night, okay?”

 

Bruce doesn’t let go of his hand, wedging himself in the corner between the passenger seat and the door, and even in sleep, he holds onto Tony.

 

Tony keeps driving, feeling like they’re in a cocoon, just the two of them in the car, in the darkness, and he’s not anxious to end this time together.

 

He’s used to working through the night, and so he drives until dawn, until he can’t quite keep his eyes open anymore.

 

The nearest hotel is a Holiday Inn Express, which isn’t a place Tony would normally stay, but they’re on a road trip, and he’s gone incognito before.

 

He leaves Bruce sleeping in the car while he gets a room. The desk clerk doesn’t even look at him, and Tony’s pretty sure she wouldn’t have recognized him if the name on the credit card hadn’t given him away.

 

The girl looks up, staring at him, and Tony smiles. “I’m on vacation. I’d like to keep it quiet.”

 

When he slides a folded hundred-dollar bill across the desk, she smiles. “I never saw you here, sir. Given the time, check-out is tomorrow at 10 am.”

 

“Thanks,” Tony replies. “I appreciate it.”

 

She hands him a key card, and when Tony gets back to the car, Bruce is awake and looking around him. “Where are we?” Bruce asks sleepily.

 

“Somewhere south of Florence, South Carolina,” Tony replies. “I’m not sure where. We’ve got until tomorrow at 10 to check out.”

 

“I’m not sure I can sleep much longer,” Bruce says. “I could drive, you know.”

 

Tony smiles. “Yeah, you could. Or we could hang out. Maybe you need the downtime, and we’ve got free wi-fi.”

 

Bruce frowns. “I thought we had somewhere to be.”

 

“No, I said we should take a road trip, and we’re heading to Florida,” Tony replies. “There’s no timeline, Bruce. No rush. It’s just us.”

 

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Bruce mutters.

 

Tony reaches out, cupping the back of Bruce’s head. “Is it a problem? You being with me?”

 

“After what I said to you?” Bruce asks, his voice breaking.

 

Tony gives him a little shake. “ _You_ didn’t say anything. That parasite was the problem, and we solved it. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

 

“Tony—”

 

“Is this the issue?” Tony asks, cutting him off. “Are you freaking out because of the thing? Because I don’t care about what you said.”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “But I was an asshole, to put it mildly.”

 

Tony gives him an incredulous stare. “Uh, have you met me? I’m an asshole on a _good_ day.”

 

Bruce laughs. “Point.”

 

“Okay, let’s get this out of the way right now,” Tony says, wanting to enjoy their vacation. “Whatever you said while under the influence, I don’t care. I talked to the Other Guy, and he was pretty clear on what was you and what wasn’t. So, everything that happened before you got infected, that’s real, Everything that happened after, that’s real, too. Whatever happened between—well, just chalk it up to the weird shit that makes up our lives.”

 

Bruce relaxes a bit, although he still has an unhappy slant to his mouth that Tony doesn’t like.

 

The truth is, Tony understands better than Bruce knows, because Tony _gets_ him. Bruce’s hard-won control had been stripped away, and _he_ had been the one causing the destruction, whereas the Hulk had been downright pleasant to be around.

 

And if it hadn’t been for the Hulk, Bruce would probably have done a lot more damage than just flinging a few insults around; if it hadn’t been for the Hulk, there’s no question that Bruce would be dead.

 

That’s not something Tony likes to think about.

 

“Come on,” he says. “I need sleep, and I’d prefer to be horizontal.”

 

“This place isn’t up to your usual standards,” Bruce observes as he follows Tony into the bland hotel room.

 

“Any port in a storm,” Tony replies. “And it’s clean, which is about all I care about right now.”

 

When Tony bounces on the king-size bed a couple of times, he finds that it’s comfortable enough. He’s certainly slept in worse places.

 

Bruce drops his bag inside the door and strolls over to the window on the other side of the room. “Not much of a view.”

 

Tony rummages around in his bag for the bottle of bourbon he’d stashed, knowing that he might not have an opportunity to stop at a bar. “Come on, drink up,” he invites, pouring a couple of glasses.

 

Bruce glances at the glass and shakes his head. “Not interested.”

 

Tony winces. Bruce doesn’t drink much most of the time, but Tony figures he really doesn’t want to experience any loss of control right now. “Sorry,” he replies, pouring what he’d put in Bruce’s glass into his own.

 

“No, I’m sorry,” Bruce says on a sigh. “It’s not your fault.” He summons a smile, and it looks genuine to Tony. “You know I slept better in the car with you than I have since it happened.”

 

Tony smiles. “Hey, I’ll drive you around any time you want.”

 

“So, where are we heading?” Bruce asks.

 

“Didn’t I say?” Tony asks innocently.

 

Bruce smiles and shakes his head. “No, you didn’t.”

 

“Little place called Lover’s Key,” Tony says. “I thought it seemed appropriate.”

 

Bruce chuckles, his gaze warm. “Sounds like a place you’d go to have a honeymoon.”

 

“No, I think it’s the place you go _before_ you get married,” Tony replies with a grin.

 

Bruce gives him a long look, and then he crosses the room with three long strides and cups Tony’s face with both hands, nipping at Tony’s lower lip, his tongue flicking out to tease.

 

Tony lets Bruce set the pace, slow and unhurried, mostly lips, but a little tongue, until Tony breaks it off to set his glass down.

 

Bruce takes the opportunity to unbutton his shirt and take off his shoes, his hands going to his belt. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

 

Tony leans back. “I was actually enjoying the show.”

 

“Strip,” Bruce orders, a playful note in his voice.

 

“I love it when you get bossy,” Tony says.

 

Bruce raises his eyebrows. “So?”

 

Tony pulls his polo over his head and begins to work on his shoes while Bruce finishes getting naked. It’s the first time they’ve been together like this since _it_ happened, and Tony’s already hard and aching.

 

“I thought you were tired,” Bruce says with a smirk as Tony takes his pants off.

 

“Not _that_ tired,” Tony replies.

 

Neither of them is in the mood for much more than getting off as quickly as possible, and again, Bruce sets the pace, his hand on Tony’s dick, his hips moving in a well-known rhythm.

 

Tony comes fairly quickly, and his exhaustion means he’s about ready to fall asleep right after. Bruce doesn’t seem to mind, though, because he brushes his lips against Tony’s. “I’ll get something to clean us up.”

 

And Tony floats in a post-orgasmic haze with the sure knowledge that he’s a genius, because this trip is turning out to be just what they need.

 

**Then**

 

A coffee cup appears at Tony’s elbow, and he turns to look at Clint’s sympathetic face. “You looked like you needed that.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony says, taking a cautious sip to check the temperature before gulping it. Since it’s not hot enough to scald him, it’s cool enough to drink quickly. He’d worked straight through the night and the next day, and he’s running on fumes.

 

“Any progress?” Clint asks cautiously.

 

Tony shakes his head. “The Guardians still haven’t gotten back to me, and I can’t figure out what will kill the parasite and not kill Bruce.”

 

“I thought nothing would kill the Hulk,” Clint objects.

 

“If that were true, the Hulk would have kicked the parasite by now,” Tony replies glumly. “Any change?”

 

Clint hitches a shoulder. “Steve’s with him now. I’ve been instructed to tell you to eat something, shower, and get some sleep.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh, really?”

 

“Trust me, it’s for the good of everyone concerned,” Clint replies, wrinkling his nose and waving his hand in front of his face.

 

“Oh, shut up,” Tony replies, too tired to come up with a better response, and knowing that it’s been a couple of days since he’d been able to shower. “Just tell me where to go.”

 

Tony’s not all that hungry—the last day plus the coffee have killed his appetite—so he goes to the quarters Clint points out and collapses into bed without undressing. He gets six hours, which is better than he thought he would, and he showers and pulls on his dirty clothing again.

 

He thinks about going to grab something to eat, but he’d rather see Bruce first, so that’s where he goes, finding Natasha sitting on the floor outside the containment room. When he looks through the glass, he sees Hulk sitting on the floor, looking diminished somehow.

 

Hulk sits against the wall, curled in on himself as much as he can be, a paler shade of green than Tony’s used to.

 

Natasha rises as Tony walks up to the glass. “You okay here on your own?” she asks.

 

Tony nods. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“He’s been pretty quiet,” Natasha says. “At least when he’s green.”

 

“What a change, huh?” Tony comments. “What about Bruce?”

 

“Still foul-mouthed,” Natasha replies. “Definitely not himself. Are you okay to stay with him for a while?”

 

Tony nods. “Yeah. I can use the break.”

 

Natasha pats him on the shoulder in a way that’s probably supposed to be comforting and is really just freaky. “Someone will come to relieve you soon.”

 

Tony swallows. “You don’t have to.”

 

“It’s what we do,” Natasha says quietly.

 

Tony watches her leave and puts his hand against the glass, wondering if the Hulk will even acknowledge him. He figures it’s even odds.

 

Hulk raises his head slowly, staring at Tony with dull eyes—human eyes—before rising with uncharacteristic clumsiness to press his hand against the glass, his hand dwarfing Tony’s.

 

Tony stays where he is, and then he reaches for the intercom with his other hand. “I’m still working on it, Big Guy. I’m going to fix this for you.”

 

“Hulk trust Metal Man.”

 

Tony presses his forehead against the glass. “That means a lot.”

 

After a few minutes, Hulk’s hand drops away from the glass, and Tony gets to his feet, watching as the Hulk gives way to Bruce.

 

In contrast to his alter ego, Bruce is up on his feet immediately, although he looks wrung out, his lips dry and cracked, his eyes glassy and bright with fever. He pounds on the glass. “Get me the fuck out of here. If you love me, you’ll do that much at least!”

 

“Bruce, you know how I feel about you,” Tony protests. “But it’s not safe. You know that.”

 

Bruce slams his hands against the glass. “Fuck you! Stop fucking playing with me, Stark! I know you’re just going to leave me in here to get rid of me! I should have known better than to trust you.”

 

Tony’s not sure how to respond to that, so he sticks with, “I know you don’t mean that, and when you’re back to normal, you’ll see that, too.”

 

Bruce slams his hands against the glass again, causing Tony to jump. “Fuck you, asshole! When I get out of here, I’m going to take you apart.”

 

Bruce follows that up with a series of other threats, all of them worse than the last, but it’s reassuring in a way. Tony knows Bruce, and he knows Bruce would never say those things.

 

Plus, he doesn’t even look like Bruce right now, with his chalky pallor, and chapped lips, and sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. Bruce tends to run hot, but Tony thinks that he looks like he’s about ready to burn up from the inside.

 

“I’ve got it,” Steve says as he approaches Tony, dressed in chinos and a t-shirt, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. “Go find a solution, because this is starting to freak me out.”

 

Tony takes that as the reassurance that Steve probably means it to be; no one is happy with one of the team down like this, especially given how strangely Bruce is acting.

 

“It worries me when you start using modern slang,” Tony replies, softening the statement with a smile. “Thanks, by the way.”

 

Steve smirks at him. “Anything for Bruce.”

 

Tony slaps him on the shoulder a little harder than is strictly necessary, knowing full well that Steve won’t feel it, but he’ll get the intent. “See you.”

 

He’s more grateful than he wants to admit that the rest of the team is so willing to sit with Bruce, since Tony has a problem to solve, and yet he doesn’t want to leave Bruce alone.

 

It’s a conundrum that his team is helping him solve.

 

Tony heads back to the lab, wondering if gamma radiation might be the answer. If radiation will kill it, they can probably hit Bruce with enough to kill the parasite without it hurting Bruce.

 

It’s something to try, anyway.

 

The computer in the lab chimes with an incoming video message, and Tony clicks “accept.”

 

“Tony, hey.” Peter Quill’s smiling face appears on the screen. “I got your message. Those parasites are nasty.”

 

“Any advice on how to get rid of it?” Tony asks, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

 

Quill gives him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sending you the formula for something that should do the trick. I’m not sure how it will work with the Hulk’s physiology, but it’s worked on everybody else so far.”

 

Tony breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

 

“Hey, it’s no trouble,” Quill insists. “You know we’re always happy to share information with the Avengers, especially if we can save a life. But you’re going to have to inject it into the back of his neck.”

 

Tony scratches his beard. “Right. How contagious is it?”

 

“If it’s in Bruce right now, it’s not contagious at all,” Quill assures him. “It’s only dangerous at the source. Assuming, of course, you manage to get close enough to the Hulk to inject him.”

 

“Honestly, the Hulk is the least of my worries,” Tony admits.

 

Quill nods. “The parasite does tend to turn people nasty. Be careful, Stark. Let us know how it turns out.”

 

“Thanks again,” Tony says, seeing the formula flash in a corner of the screen. “I have to go.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” Quill replies.

 

Tony gets to work.

 

**Now**

 

Tony wakes slowly, the late afternoon sun filtering through the thick curtains of their hotel room. He hears someone whimper and can’t quite figure out where he is, or who’s making that sound.

 

A choked noise has him sitting up suddenly, and he sees Bruce sitting at the table in the corner, his laptop open, and his head pillowed on his arm on the table. His face is turned away from Tony’s, and Tony rolls out of bed, approaching cautiously.

 

As far as he knows, Bruce has never transformed as a result of a nightmare, but Tony doesn’t want to take any chances.

 

He glances around the hotel room and figures that it’s probably no great loss if the hotel room is totaled, but Bruce is never going to forgive himself if someone gets hurt.

 

“Bruce,” Tony calls softly. “Hey, come on, Big Man. It’s just a nightmare. Wake up for me now.”

 

Bruce stirs slightly and lets out another choked sound.

 

“You’re okay, I’m right here,” Tony murmurs, sliding his hand along the top of the table to cover Bruce’s. “Wake up now, Brucie. You need to wake up.”

 

Bruce gasps, and his head comes up, looking around wildly, and Tony gets the sense that Bruce isn’t really _seeing_ him.

 

Tony squeezes his hand and just waits until sense returns to Bruce’s eyes, and then he reaches out and pulls Bruce into a tight embrace. “Okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Bruce manages. “Yeah.”

 

When he shows no sign of letting go, Tony just continues to hang onto him. Bruce has done the same for him on a number of occasions after Tony has one of his dreams about holes in space and running out of air.

 

Eventually, Bruce pulls back. “Thanks.”

 

“You’ve done the same for me,” Tony replies. “Got what you need?”

 

Bruce nods. “Yeah.”

 

“You want to get out of here, maybe get something to eat?”

 

“I just need a shower first,” Bruce replies.

 

Tony can feel how damp Bruce’s shirt is. “Sure. Take your time.”

 

Bruce lifts an eyebrow. “You’re not going to join me?”

 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Tony replies with a leer that makes Bruce let out a weary chuckle.

 

Bruce’s hands are all over him in the shower, but neither of them is quite ready to go again, so they just focus on touching each other. Tony’s grateful that Bruce is finally willing to _be_ touched, considering how skittish he’s been.

 

When they get out of the shower, Tony grabs a couple of thin, cheap towels and tosses one to Bruce.

 

“Do you mind if I drive for a while?” Bruce asks casually.

 

“No, why would I?” Tony asks, managing to sound just as off-hand.

 

Bruce shrugs. “I just—wasn’t sure. It’s your car.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Tony reiterates. “Whatever you want to do.”

 

“I want food first,” Bruce says with a smile. “You figure out where we can get something to eat, and I’ll get us there.”

 

There’s a little café south of Florence that supposedly serves breakfast all day, and that’s where they head. It’s diner food, but Tony doesn’t mind, and Bruce orders the same blue plate special Tony does, chowing through his food with a single-minded intensity.

 

Tony gets through his eggs, bacon, most of his hash browns, and part of his pancakes, whereas Bruce cleans his plate—both of them.

 

“Hungry?” Tony asks with a smile.

 

Bruce shrugs. “I haven’t been eating much lately.”

 

“But you feel better?” Tony asks, knowing that he’s pressing his luck, but unable to resist.

 

Bruce smiles. “Yeah, I’m starting to feel more like myself.”

 

Tony leaves a couple of large bills on the table, ensuring that their waitress will have a very good day, and they get back on the road, this time with Bruce behind the wheel.

 

“You mind if I put some music on?” Tony asks.

 

Bruce glances over at him, his lips turned up in a wry smile. “Knock yourself out.”

 

Tony takes that as permission to crank up the AC/DC, and _Back in Black_ starts up. Bruce snorts, but he’s used to Tony’s music by now, and Tony thinks he secretly likes it, although his tastes tend to be a little mellower.

 

They have to stop for gas and snacks around Santee, and Bruce hangs onto the keys, so Tony just climbs back into the passenger seat and lets Bruce drive. He suspects Bruce wants to be in control right now, and Tony’s happy to give him whatever he needs.

 

AC/DC turns into Metallica, and Tony falls asleep some time after they cross the border into Georgia, the road under the wheels humming in a comforting rhythm. He wakes when Bruce stops for gas again.

 

“Whassup?” Tony mumbles.

 

“We need gas,” Bruce says, sounding impossibly fond. “And I’m not entirely sure where we’re going. Do we need to stop for the night?”

 

Tony glances around. The sun is beginning to set, turning the tops of the surrounding trees red-gold. “Where are we?”

 

“St. Mary’s,” Bruce says. “Just outside of it, anyway.”

 

Tony checks the GPS on his phone and says, “We can still make it tonight if you’re up for a few more hours in the car.”

 

“I’ll let you drive,” Bruce offers.

 

“You hungry?”

 

Bruce shrugs. “I could eat.”

 

They get drive-through, since they’re both ready to be out of the car and don’t want to stop and eat somewhere. Tony follows the GPS directions to bypass Jacksonville, and they start heading west.

 

The drive is mostly made in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. Bruce has pulled out his Stark Pad, and Tony thinks he’s reading some scientific article, while Tony finds a classic rock station.

 

“You know, I never took you for someone who liked vacations,” Bruce says out of the blue. “Away from your workshop and the lab.”

 

“Normally, I would agree with you,” Tony says. “And if I weren’t going with you, I wouldn’t go at all.”

 

Bruce glances at him. ‘Then what are you getting out of this?”

 

“You, hopefully in one piece,” Tony says frankly. “I nearly lost you, remember? I’m used to thinking about you being invulnerable.”

 

Bruce looks a little abashed at that. “I’m used to thinking of myself that way, too.”

 

Tony lets the silence ride, wondering if Bruce is going to finally talk about what had happened. Bruce isn’t one to talk about his feelings, but he’ll occasionally let something slip, will burst with emotion and truth, like a pressure valve being released.

 

“You know, it’s been a long time since I wanted to die.”

 

Tony swallows hard and clenches the steering wheel. “Good to know.” He doesn’t dare look at Bruce.

 

“But when I had that _thing_ in my head, when I didn’t think I would ever get it out, that I would hurt the people I—I cared about, that I would keep on hurting _you_ , I figured death would be better,” Bruce says quietly.

 

Tony fumbles for Bruce’s hand. “I wasn’t going to let that happen to you.”

 

“Someday, you might not be able to save me,” Bruce replies quietly, but he squeezes Tony’s hand so tightly that Tony’s going to be feeling it for a while.

 

Tony glances over at him. “I could say the same.”

 

Bruce smiles faintly. “I guess that makes us even.”

 

“I don’t think we need to keep score,” Tony replies, and just keeps hanging on.

 

**Then**

 

Steve looks at the syringe in Tony’s hand dubiously. “And how are we supposed to get that into him?”

 

“According to Quill, Bruce isn’t contagious,” Tony replies. “So, I’m going to wait until the Hulk shows up again and ask very politely if he’ll let me stick this in the back of his neck. If he’s not up for it, then I’ll wait until Bruce is back, and you and Clint can hold him down.”

 

Clint winces. “Uh, Stark, you weren’t around when he had to subdue him. He might be a little too strong for the two of us. Now, if Thor were around…”

 

“Tranq dart,” Natasha suggests.

 

“I don’t want to mix tranquilizers in with this,” Tony protests, holding up the syringe. “I think it’s going to be ugly enough as it is.”

 

Natasha nods. “Very well. I can find a few burly SHIELD agents if it comes to that. Quill was certain Bruce wasn’t infectious?”

 

“Apparently, only contact with the source will do it,” Tony says. “Let’s hope he’s right.”

 

“You’re going to wear the suit, aren’t you?” Steve protests.

 

Tony shakes his head. “I don’t have the manual dexterity to make sure the needle goes where it’s supposed to. The Hulk saved my life, though. I don’t think he’s going to smash me, not if I ask nicely.”

 

“It’s your funeral,” Clint mutters, sharing a significant look with Natasha, which Tony ignores.

 

Tony doesn’t care about the risk; he just wants Bruce back.

 

They’ve left Bruce under the watchful gaze of Jasper Sitwell, who is enduring Bruce’s abuse impassively.

 

Bruce looks terrible. As far as Tony knows, he hasn’t slept or eaten at all. Someone had apparently given him a tray of food at some point, although not in Tony’s presence, but the food is decorating the walls now. Bruce’s voice is hoarse from his constant yelling, and he doesn’t seem to have run out of insults in the last couple of days.

 

When Bruce catches sight of Tony, though, he gasps, and immediately turns green, cutting off whatever Bruce had been going to say.

 

Hulk looks at Tony through the glass, appearing exhausted. “Hulk protect Metal Man.”

 

Tony leans against the glass. “Thanks, Big Guy. I’ve got something to fix you up, but you’re going to have to let me inject it into the back of your neck. It might hurt some.”

 

Hulk doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Hurry.”

 

“Right now,” Tony replies, nodding at Sitwell.

 

“Tony—” Steve begins.

 

Tony shakes his head. “This needs to end.”

 

Sitwell nods. “Good luck.” He manages to keep most of the doubt out of his voice, something for which Tony is incredibly grateful.

 

The door slides open enough for Tony to slip through. The Hulk has hunkered down on the floor, and he turns to look at Tony.

 

Tony has never gotten over his sense of awe at being this close to the Hulk, and although he’s sure the Hulk won’t hurt him, there’s still the knowledge that he _could_.

 

And then, the Hulk bows his head, baring the back of his neck to Tony in a show of trust that’s absolutely breathtaking.

 

“Okay,” Tony murmurs and touches the Hulk’s wide, green shoulder. “Hold still.”

 

With a feeling of trepidation, Tony lifts the syringe, and then he presses it into the back of the Hulk’s neck, depressing the plunger.

 

Hulk pitches forward, curling up on his side, making a low, animal sound.

 

“Tony! Get out of there!” Steve says over the intercom.

 

Tony shakes his head stubbornly. “No. I’m staying.”

 

The Hulk shakes, still making those terrible noises, but he doesn’t make any moves towards Tony, who presses back against the wall, hopefully out of his way. The Hulk begins to convulse, and then he shrinks down into Bruce’s pale, naked form, still thrashing around.

 

“Get the medics!” Tony orders. “Now!”

 

He doesn’t have anything to throw over Bruce, or put under his head, so he rolls Bruce onto his side and waits for the medical team, which arrives seconds later.

 

Clint’s there, too, pulling Tony away. “Come on. Let them do their jobs.”

 

The medics wait for the worst to be over, and then they load Bruce up onto a gurney, throw a blanket over him, and strap him down. Tony doesn’t want to let Bruce out of his sight, but Clint maintains his grip.

 

“They’re going to be working on him for a while,” he says. “Why don’t you grab something to eat?”

 

“I don’t want Bruce to wake up alone,” Tony protests, “and we don’t know how long he’s going to be out. It might only be a few minutes.”

 

“I can bring you something,” Steve offers. “I think they’ve got sandwiches in the commissary.”

 

“That would be great, thanks,” Tony replies sincerely, pulling free of Clint’s grip to follow the medics.

 

The doctors won’t let Tony anywhere near Bruce at first, so he stands in the hallway and scarfs the sandwich that Steve brings him.

 

“Mr. Stark?” Dr. Demos sticks her head out. “You can come in now. Dr. Banner is still unconscious, but he’s stable. We’re not sure how long he’s going to be out.”

 

Tony breathes out a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

 

“We also don’t know what the long term effects of the parasite are going to be,” Demos adds, a warning note in her voice. “Dr. Banner may not remember anything, or…” She trails off. “We’re in uncharted waters, what with the parasite and Dr. Banner’s unique physiology.”

 

Tony doesn’t much like the sound of that, but he has to believe that Bruce is going to wake up and be fine.

 

“Let us know when Bruce wakes up,” Natasha instructs him, and Tony doesn’t miss the promise in her words. Natasha is usually something of a pessimist, but she’s choosing to believe that Bruce _will_ wake up. “Or if you need a break.”

 

Tony nods. “Thanks, for everything.”

 

When he enters Bruce’s room, he can see that they’ve cleaned him up a bit, although Bruce’s hair is still greasy from a few days of not showering, and he’s wearing one of those thin hospital gowns. He still looks pale and hollow-cheeked, like someone coming off a weeklong bender, or a long illness.

 

Tony sits in the chair next to Bruce’s bed and grabs his hand, and then, because he’s more tired than words can adequately express, he puts his head down on the bed and closes his eyes.

 

He starts awake when he feels Bruce’s hand twitch, and he sits up, rubbing his eyes.

 

Bruce groans, and Tony grips his hand tightly, waiting for him to come around.

 

Eventually, Bruce’s eyes flutter open, and he gives Tony a confused look that quickly changes into horror. “Tony, I—”

 

“It’s okay,” Tony says quickly, because he thinks Bruce is going to apologize, and Tony doesn’t want to hear it. He’s too damn grateful that Bruce is alive and himself again.

 

Bruce shakes his head. “It’s not okay. What I said to you—”

 

“Stop,” Tony orders hoarsely. “Just stop. We’re okay. _You’re_ okay. That’s all I need right now.”

 

And then they’re swarmed by medical professionals, and Tony is shunted off to one side.

 

Bruce stays pretty quiet after that, and after a week goes by with Bruce not looking any better—even though the doctors insisted that he was fine—Tony makes plans.

 

**Now**

 

Tony will admit that he often takes his money for granted, because he’s always been rich, but there are times when it hits home how lucky he is.

 

Right now, they’re in a private beachfront home, which means they’ve got the stretch of white sand beach all to themselves. Normally, the house is a timeshare, but a couple of phone calls from Tony had freed it up for a week—for a hefty price, of course.

 

Tony figures it’s worth it; the privacy means that Bruce feels comfortable stripping down to his swim trunks and stretching out on the sand, without having to worry about anyone recognizing them.

 

Right now, in fact, Bruce is lying on his stomach on a towel, his head pillowed on his hands, his pale skin beginning to bronze after hours in the sun. Tony’s stretched out next to him, with a couple of bottles of beer on ice in a bucket between them, watching the beads of sweat on Bruce’s temple.

 

Bruce looks relaxed, a faint smile playing around his mouth, and Tony thinks that a couple of quiet days, regular meals, and lots of sleep and sex seem to have done the trick.

 

Tony’s ready to call this the best vacation ever.

 

“So, what did you have to do to get this place?” Bruce asks.

 

Tony thinks it might be a good sign that it had taken Bruce three days to ask; unlike Tony, he’s not used to having obscene amounts of money at his disposal—at least not yet.

 

“I greased a few palms,” Tony admits. “Maybe I promised some Avengers merchandise. Nothing big.”

 

Bruce props himself up on his elbow with a grunt. “As long as you didn’t promise a kidney or a first born child, I think it was probably worth it.”

 

Tony grins. “So, I was right.”

 

Bruce rolls his eyes. “You had to say it.”

 

“Hey, if I don’t say it, no one ever does,” Tony protests.

 

“Your ego doesn’t need the assist,” Bruce replies, but he’s smiling fondly, and Tony is swamped with a sense of gratitude. “But thanks. I really needed this.”

 

And Tony reaches out to pull him in for a kiss. “You and me both,” he murmurs.


End file.
